She Knows
by JapaneseAnimeFreak16
Summary: Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels his absence and the emptiness in her chest. "We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."
1. She knows

**Author's Note:**This is my first ever Supernatural fic, so be kind :D This is an ansty one-shot, sort of a reflection crossing into AU. Towards the end, it's supposed to be like Dean making a deal with Death or becoming his apprentice and bringning back all his loved ones in return. It could be made into a full-length fic, or someone can take the idea and make a multi-chapter fic, just let me know if you're interested enjoy!

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **Angst, mentions of blood and violence, canon character death, slight AU towards the end, maybe some DeanxJo hints :P

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural, but I wish I owned Dean ;D

**Summary:** Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels his absence and the emptiness in her chest. "We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."

* * *

In one moment, her breaths are raspy and pained, blood gurgling in her throat and leaving her body through rough gashes and despite the stubborn, idiotic determination to save her and the whole world in one go, she sees the aching agony in his green eyes, the unshed tears on her mothers face, and _knows._ Warmth blooms over her clammy skin when he kisses her forehead, steals the first kiss she ever gives, when familiar hands that guided her, taught her, loved her, clasps over her own, and she doesn't regret this because she's not alone and never will be.

In the next, she is pulled from somewhere filled with shimmering light and false love and is standing in a dirty barn, gaze locked on him and the guilt on his face tells her enough.

His eyes are still green, impossibly bright, forest green, but they shine with regrets and drown in despair. She tries to save him, salvage his soul with one look, but her words are warped by the god that dragged her down into the place between heaven and hell, and for the first time in a while, she feels frustrated, useless. Being used like a toy, she wants to be angry, wants to curse and break free, but the anger can't manifest in this form and it's so frustrating that she wants to scream. Her blood can't boil, her head can't throb, and her fists can't clench, but still seeing him, even with his broken sorrow, she doesn't feel hopeless.

She's sent away again, and there's an ache deep in her soul that isn't hers – or maybe it is, she isn't sure, but it doesn't matter anyway.

She knows it isn't her will that drives her to turn on the stove, to break the salt line, to steal his lighter, but she doesn't imagine the pain or the love in his gaze even as she does all this. There's no protest, just reassurance that he knows, he knows she doesn't want to do this, that _it's okay_, and if tears could well in her eyes, they would.

The resignation and brokenness that weighs him down sickens her because this isn't the man she knows, the one that challenged God, tried to kill the devil with the intent to save his brother instead of the world, died and burned and lived and died again for his family, and she hopes with her entire being that he can stand up again, because even if she isn't there to help him up, he needs to stay strong – when he is strong, the world is too.

She feels a pull again, this time taking her away from him and his guilt. She wants to stay, but she has no will in a world she doesn't belong to anymore, and she prays.

When she wakes up again, she feels the familiar weight of life and humanity, the beating of her heart, the pulsing of her blood, and knows, just like she knew all along, that he saved them again. Gratitude and despair war in her chest until she hears her mothers voice, rough and soft with emotion, smells the warm musk of Bobby's house, and her chest bursts with happiness. Silently, she wonders if waking from the dead always felt this way since she doesn't know death as intimately as the Winchester brothers, and her breath catches. Something wrong makes Bobby's voice waver and crack, and she opens her eyes to sunlight touching her face – it's nothing compared to his kiss – and finds that her face is wet with tears.

Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels the emptiness in her chest. She wants an explanation, everyone does, and the pained horror that crosses their faces hurts as much as his absence, maybe more. The truth rings in her ears even before the words are said, the color draining from her world, her heart cracking and shattering, and it _hurts._

Her chest feels hollow, but she knows that it was because of him that she could breath warm, dusty air, that she was not resurrected in a place where hellfire and sulfur burned life away from everything. She knows he did it, she knows why, she doesn't know how, and it just makes her hands tremble more and the tears harder to keep unshed.

"We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I love Supernatural and can't wait for season 8 :DD Hope you guys liked this one-shot! Sorry if Jo seems a little OOC, she was busy being dead XD I love her so much, I wish she came back! Faves and reviews are greatly appreciated!


	2. she's home

**Author's Note:** Some of you asked for a sequel…so here it is! I didn't actually mean to write one, it just sort of happened after rereading my oneshot XD This picks up a few decades after where the first chapter ended, and THIS IS IT! This is the ending! Hopefully it gave some of you guys some closure. If someone has an idea for a full length fic, please let me know and I'll let you use either or both chapters or just this idea in general. Thanks for reading guys!

**Rating: K+**

**Warning:** Implied character deaths, multiple character deaths, angst

**Summary**: Even before she hugs her mother, tackles Ash, smiles at Bobby, shakes hands with John, nods to Sam, she feels his absence and the emptiness in her chest. "We've been looking for days, but…it says here Dean Winchester never existed."

* * *

**She's Home**

She closes her eyes and takes another swig of whiskey, feeling the liquid fire burn down her throat and settle in her stomach, but all she tastes is ash and blood.

Eyes, old and tired, open to watch the setting sun from the porch of the rickety old bar she calls home, enjoying the soft, dry breeze as it blows passed and rattles against the time-worn wood. She wonders if they can see the splashes of orange, fiery red hues, and light pinks dancing across the sky and dusting the clouds from where they are, if the colors are just as brilliant and breathtaking, but she merely smiles to herself and knows she'll find out soon – she's outlived too many to see another hunter die too young like she once thought she would, did.

Wrinkled, calloused hands that know the feel of a knife as well as a bottle of brandee shake only slightly when she brings the glass to her lips again, salty tears mixing with the expensive scotch that Rufus used to love.

She lived a good life, she decides.

It was hard moving on, not knowing what happened or why they were given a second chance, but they were able to - tried to, almost died not wanting to - keep going like he would've wanted them to, what he would've demanded of them if he were still around in more than just their memories.

She still has more regrets that she wants to admit – not being there for Sam more, not taking that gun from Bobby – and now they're bone-deep aches that keep her awake at night, but life was, is, good.

This time around, she was the one to bury her mother and was there for Ash when he burned, and although she still cries alone at night, she wouldn't have it any other way. Bobby was still with her until a few years after, telling her everyday with a broken heart and sad, sad eyes that she looks just like her mother, and when she was the only one at his funeral, she knew she was the last. She just wishes that the last time she saw Sam, he wasn't half-crazy with the intent to burn the world for his brother, but she can't ask for any more miracles. She hasn't seen him or John since, but an old, used cassette tape of classic, hard rock never fails to show up on her doorstep even after so many years. She suspects another hunter – or fallen angel – is responsible on the younger Winchester brother's behalf, but doesn't question it as Led Zepplin plays instead of REO Speedwagon.

She never married. She never had kids. Once upon a time, she thought she would settle down, but that was before her dreams and nightmares came true, before salt and shotguns and holy water were more important that veils and cribs and white picket fences. She can't make a man live with only half of her heart, and she doesn't want to raise a child with a rattle in one hand and silver bullets in the other.

And she figures she never would've been a good little housewife, anyway.

She still has dreams, fractured and weary, of forest green eyes and golden amulets and black Impalas filled with childhood memories and broken destinies, and not a day goes by that she doesn't wonder what happened, but deep in her bones, she knows the time is coming.

As she waits for the sun to dip below the dusty horizon, she reminisces. There are blank spots in her memory from times where she was thrown into a wall or drunk off her high horse, but the important was are always vivid and bloodstained. Those are the memories she cherishes the most, because that's when she is herself, carrying her father's legacy and making him proud. She can still hear the _chink_ of a gun as it's taken a part and cleaned when they're just glasses clinking together, can still throw a knife with experienced accuracy despite the arthritis hurting her wrists, but it's the fondest memories, the sweet moments that are slipping away too quickly for her tired mind to grasp.

One last swig and she settles against the wooden post.

She caps the bottle of brandee by her side and waits, letting out a sigh that soothes the aches in her soul, lets out the silent screams and happy laughs she's never let anyone hear, and closes her eyes for the last time.

The cold settles in her hands first, numbing them slightly, and slowly creep to the rest of her body that leaves her feeling unsettled and resigned before she's suddenly flooded with warmth and light, like she's suddenly waking up again from a long, long sleep.

It's a strange, overwhelming sensation that she's never experienced, but it's like she's drinking in the sun, catching comets, and touching the stars. She hears bells, faint, distant, almost too far away to hear, twisting together with tinkling silver chimes. Then it isn't just bells, there is humming too. Wordless, tuneless, yet somehow still beautiful humming that mixes with the bells and even though it is still too far away to clearly make out, there is something about it that sends tingles down her spine.

Here, she is young again, blonde hair no longer streaked with grey and face left with no crow's feet or laugh lines, but she keeps her scars, her badges of honor, and she doesn't know what to think.

She opens her eyes and smiles, the heavy weight on her shoulders finally disappearing as she stands and takes her father's outstretched hand. Their hug lasts for an eternity, whispered words and transcended feelings twisting around them as father and daughter finally meet again. Another presence is there, her beautiful, strong mother and Ash, her brother in all but blood, and suddenly her family is whole. Another eternity passes before they pull a part, before she sees Sam smiling gently at her without the madness that crept into his eyes and laced his words, and she smiles back, something more profound than relief passing between them. Castiel is there, she feels it, because what else but angelic, holy wings of grace could feel like perfect white beach sand and cascading waterfalls, and he is the Castiel she drank with the night they prepared to die. John nods her way, no longer weighed down by guilt and pain, and she realizes, when he, Bobby, and Rufus begin to argue, trading laughs and stories and glances that speak more than words ever could, that she's finally happy.

Everyone takes a step back, and for a moment all she can see is him.

His cocky grin is glorious, glowing like it could light up the whole world, and she sees one man, the one that waged war on heaven for his family and the broken shell that gave them a second chance he never gave himself. His eyes, his impossibly green eyes are shining, and she understands the light surrounding him, the joy that radiates from the depths of his soul. He is finally free of his burden, of his crushing guilt, and she is free with him, all of them. His face is young too, youthful and happy and without the shadows of regret darkening his face and dragging him into despair. He's happy, and it's all that she could ever ask for.

Her hand is warm where he grasps hers, sending tingles up her arm and warming her heart, a silent promise to never let go again, and she knows he is a man of his word because once upon a time it was all he had left.

Her world bursts with impossible rainbows and sparkling gold and silver dust and forest greens, and she as watches molten red bleeds into soft, petal pink and bright tangerine orange, and she decides that, no, sunsets are not the same here, because this place is filled with the people she loves and laughs and bleeds and dies with, and she is not alone.

Sunsets are different here because she knows she is finally home.

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**Author's Note:** Hope you guys enjoyed it! I certainly enjoyed writing :D Faves and reviews are greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think of this last chapter, does it give you closure? I know there are probably still some questions, but those are up to you to fill in the blanks XD Read some other reviews to see if anyone else had the same idea of Dean did to save everyone ;D Thanks once again! I feel the love!


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